


For the One She Loves

by LadyCorvidae, roseforthethorns



Series: Into the Labyrinth [2]
Category: Labyrinth (1986), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Adventure, Antidotes, Crossover, F/M, Hunter!Seb, Jim is the Goblin King, John is Hoggle, M/M, Magic, Mrs. Hudson is the worm, Sherlolly - Freeform, Torture, Unrequited Love, mormor, spells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-18
Updated: 2012-10-18
Packaged: 2017-11-16 13:50:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/540119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyCorvidae/pseuds/LadyCorvidae, https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseforthethorns/pseuds/roseforthethorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly wishes Sherlock away and chooses to run the Labyrinth to get him back.</p><p>(I own nothing of these characters. All Sherlock rights go to the BBC, Moffat, and Gatiss. I'm just having some fun.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Just a Fairy Tale

**Author's Note:**

> This idea was requested back in August by Startwiththeridingcrop, and LadyCorvidae and I pounced on the idea... and then took forever writing it (and a month hiatus for Prompts and WTWB).

The children gathered around the huge, black, wingback chair in the corner of the library, talking eagerly amongst themselves as they waited for Story Time to start.

"What's it today?"

"Dunno."

"I hope fairytales. I like fairytales."

"I just wanna happy ending."

Molly sat eagerly, front and center; she loved the weekly Story Time at the library. Mr. King was the best... he did all the funny voices right, and he was so nice to listen to, and right at eleven o'clock on the dot, James King strode out of the little side room, his cloak trailing behind him as he made his way to the chair, sitting back almost lazily as he surveyed the eager faces of the children who all went as silent as the grave. "Good morning," he purred, his Irish brogue wafting over the group

They were all too in awe to say anything, except for Molly. "G'morning, Mister King!" she piped, her childish voice clear.

He gave her a warm smile. "And a good morning to you, Miss Molly Hooper. I have a special story for you boys and girls today." The eyes of the children went wide as they scooted forward slightly. There was some faint excited murmuring coming from the crowd. Molly was almost sitting on his feet, her brown eyes huge in her head.

"Today's story is called... 'The Girl and the Goblin King.'"

Molly's face broke into a wide smile. She was so excited! A new story... and from the title, it sounded like a good one already.

"A long time ago, there was a young girl who was very happy. She loved her family, and even when she lost her father to illness, her mother still loved her. But there was one person the girl did not like very much: a pale man with curly dark hair. He was terrible and wicked and said cruel things to the girl, so much so that she finally lost her temper and said the words she'd been told _never_ to say."

"What were the words?" Molly asked, her voice breathless, eyes bright.

The Storyteller's brown eyes sparkled. "They were: 'I wish the goblins would come and take you away... _right now_.'"

"Then what happened?"

The rest of the group was hushed in rapt attention. "The Goblin King sent out his minions to whisk the bad man away, carrying him off to the castle at the center of a great labyrinth. The girl was amazed, even more so when the king of the goblins appeared to her and offered her whatever her heart desired."

"Whatever she wanted?"

" _Exactly_. He offered her everything she could think of and more, showering her with gifts for he was in love with her."

"And... and what happened to the bad man?"

"Well, the girl had a choice. She could take all the things the Goblin King offered or she could run the labyrinth for the man who hated her. She chose the Goblin King, and he made her his queen, ruling alongside him in the magic lands. The bad man became one of the goblins, something of a pet for them, and the girl was never sad or hurt again. The End."

The children clapped and clapped (although some of the boys declared it 'sissy stuff' and said that they liked last week's story about the dragon better) and began to file out, searching for other books. But not Molly... she was still at the feet of the Story Teller, her face shining with awe. Jim stopped, about to stand but for the child at his feet. "Can I help you, my dear?"

She stood and wrapped her arms around him. "You're my favorite," she said, beaming.

"Am I? Well, aren't you... kind," he said softly, standing the rest of the way and prying her arms free. "I have to go now, but I'm sure I will see you next week. You are the best listener of the group."

She nodded vigorously. "I'll remember this one, Mister King. It's my favorite!" she called after him as he swept out, dark cloak billowing behind him.

" _I'm counting on it, Molly Hooper_."


	2. Forbidden Words

Molly sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. It was one of those days... close to the anniversary of her father's death, having to do an autopsy on the body of a child, paperwork up to her eyeballs. She just wanted to go home and curl up on her couch with her cat, watch some crap telly and have a glass of wine to relax, but no, not today. Sweeping into the morgue and banging the door on his way in, Sherlock Holmes regarded the young pathologist. "Need to see the body of George Fenner that just came in. For Lestrade, for a case."

She looked wearily up at the tall consulting detective, her already frayed nerves close to breaking. "Could you at least ask nicely?" she asked, her voice a bit short. She still had a crush on him, but sometimes... sometimes she just couldn't stand him.

"What's the point? It's simply taking extra time when a shorter sentence will suffice, and previous experience indicates that you will do what I say anyway." Sherlock stared at her, eyes cold and calculating and irritated.

She glared at him. "No."

His blue eyes narrowed. "Do not make me repeat myself Molly. You, corpse, now."

"And I said _no_ , Sherlock."

He advanced, backing her against one of the exam tables. "Pathetic, spineless, sad day coming for you but you want to ignore it, attempt at makeup this morning to garner my favorable attention failed miserably. I do not return your oh-so-obvious affections Molly, so why don't you just _forget_ about it, stop trying, and _pull out that corpse_?"

She recoiled, her eyes stinging with hurt tears. Then anger replaced the hurt, and she slapped him, hard. "You... are the cruelest man I've ever known, Sherlock Holmes," she said, her voice shaking with emotion. "And... and I wish the goblins would take you away. Right _now_." She didn't know why she said it, barely remembering it from a story she heard and loved as a child. She turned away before he could mock her more, but her words were met with cold silence and a slight breeze, bringing a faint, almost mocking laugh on it. Hair on the back of her neck prickling, Molly turned and Sherlock was gone. In his place was a shorter man, dressed entirely in black. He was familiar... very familiar. "Who... who are you and how'd you get in here?" she asks, confused. "Where's Sherlock?"

The man with short, dark hair and mocking eyes, smirked at her. "You know very well where he is."

Her eyes went wide. She knew that voice. "Mr. King? Mr. Jim King, the storyteller?" she asked, now _very_ confused. He hadn't aged a day, and he should have at least been in his sixties by now, as she was _four_ the last time she had seen him, that day at the library.

"Oooooo, look, the little girl _remembers_ ," he purred, stepping toward her.

She shivered and took a step back. There was something about him now that was unnerving. Then, all at once, she remembered. The story. _The Girl and the Goblin King_. Her breath left her in a rush. "The story... the little girl was _me_? But..." then her face went white as a sheet. Sherlock. She had wished him away. "Give him back," she said, her voice commanding with a hint of panic.

"What's said is said," Jim replied, brushing off a sleeve with a gloved hand. "Besides, I have a gift for you," he murmured, lifting his hand as a crystal ball appeared.

She looked at it, something flickering in its depths. "What is it?" she asked.

"It's a crystal, nothing more, nothing less... but if you look into it, it can show you your dreams." He twirled it expertly, watching as her eyelids drooped. "Do you want it?"

 _Do you want it_? The crystal passed from one hand to the other, the motions so fluid that it mesmerized her, lulling her. But her brain dredged up one thing. 'No... _Sherlock_...' it hissed. She shook herself. "Thank you for your... most generous offer, but I can't. I... I _can't_. Sherlock, he's... he's needed here," she said.

Jim's brown eyes flashed, the crystal becoming a rattlesnake in his hands. "Do _not_ defy me," he hissed.

She stood her ground, although she was shaking with fear. "No, thank you. I need Sherlock back, whatever it takes," she said.

The snake vanished, and Jim turned, pointing to the window of the morgue. "You want to know where he is? Look there."

She looked. There wasn't the gray streets of London outside of the glass any more. Now there was a semi-barren land, full of sand and rough scrub and... a maze. A _labyrinth_ , stretching on for miles. And towering at its center, a monumental castle. "He's there, isn't he?" she murmured.

"That's my castle, beyond the Goblin City," he murmured in her ear, lips just brushing it. "And do you finally know me, little girl?"

She shivered at the barest touch of his skin against hers. "You're the Goblin King," she said, her voice faint.

"Right in one! And I've had my eye on you for a _long_ time."

For some reason, she flushed. "Ah," she said, not knowing what else to say. "So... I have to run the Labyrinth to get him back, don't I..."

Stepping back from her, the man scowled. "You still wish to find him? Even after he was so cruel to you?"

She looked him dead in the eye. "I do."

"If you insist," he sighed, gesturing to the clock on the tree. "You have thirteen hours to solve the labyrinth, or your _dear_ detective will be one of us forever." He faded from sight, three words hanging in the air.

" _Such_ a pity."


	3. Getting Started

Molly took a deep breath and started down the hill. The stone wall of the labyrinth loomed before her, impressive and impenetrable. "How am I going to get in?" she sighed. She began walking along the wall, searching for a door or an opening of some sort. _Maybe I can find someone to help?_ She saw a figure standing on the edge of a pool and she walked over. When she got closer, she realized what he was doing. She looked up and turned away slightly. "Ah.. excuse me?" she said.

Startled, the dwarf jumped, hastily tucking himself back in and zipping up, turning around. "What do you want?"

"Er... hullo. Could you help me, please? I need to get into the Labyrinth," she said, looking at the scowling little man in the comfortable-looking (if ratty) jumper in front of her. Scowling at the girl, John turned away, stumping off with his can of faerie spray. Molly followed him; he was dousing large fluttering bugs which, upon closer inspection, were... _faeries_? She picked up one of the fallen ones, the scientist in her alight with curiosity. "This is just amazing!" she said, then let out a short cry and dropped the small creature. "AH! It bit me!" she said, putting the injured finger in her mouth.

"Well what did you expect fairies to do?" he chuckled, spraying another.

"I have no idea. And can you please tell me how to get into the Labyrinth?" she asked again, frowning slightly at him.

"And why should I do that for you?"

"Because I need help and I need to save my... my friend," she said. " _Please_."

"Sorry, can't do nothing for you. Go back home."

"I _can't_. I have to run the Labyrinth or he'll be kept there forever!"

"Well, pity for him. I'd not fancy that fate. What made you stupid enough to say the words?"

She glared at him. "He was being uncommonly cruel to me," she said. "And if you won't help me, will you at least show me the door to get in?"

"Maybe, but that's you assuming it's a door. Taking things for granted, are you?"

"Passage, portal, _whatever_. I would like to get in."

John stared at her for a long minute, and, spraying another fairy, he relented. " _Fine_. You get in there." He pointed and a section of the wall opened outward.

She started as the doors swung open with a groan. She smiled. "Thank you, thank you so much Mr... ah... I didn't catch your name,"

"Watson. I'm John Watson."

"Thank you, John Watson!" Molly said before she went inside. "Now... where to begin..."

"Would you go right? Or left?"

She jumped. "Mr. Watson! I... guess I'll go left," she said, looking down the path as it stretched in that direction.

"Y'don't sound too sure."

"Well, I've not had experience running a magical maze to get back the man I... the man I'm friends with."

"Yeah, sure, friends. Friends don't run the labyrinth for each other, Molly Hooper. And John. Not Mr. Watson. I'm not near so high and mighty as to deserve a 'Mr.'"

"All right, John. And since I wished him away, I need to get him back. I just... I _have_ to."

"King Jim won't give him up easy. Want my advice? Go home... but you're dead set against it. So stop thinking and just _choose_."

She nodded once, brusquely and set out on the left-hand path. "Thank you for your help, John!" she called over her shoulder as she walked.

He watched her retreating form, shaking his head. "She's not gonna make it."


	4. Not What it Seems

Molly walked on and on, but the path kept going in a straight line. She began running, but after several long moments, scowled: no turns, no corners, not even an alcove. She growled in frustration and put her back against the wall, sliding down it to sit on the dirty stone and re-think her plans. A small, tinny voice piped up. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

She turned and saw a small worm with a kind face on a ledge next to her. "Beg pardon?"

"I said you you like a cuppa? Look like you could use one."

"Thank you, but I have to figure out the labyrinth, which is proving to be more difficult than I thought. There aren't any corners or turns, it seems to just go on in a straight line!" she said, ending in a rush.

"It's full of turns!"

"But _where_? I don't see any!"

"There's one right across from you. Come inside and put your feet up."

"Again, thank you, but I can't. Across from me, you said?" she said, determination in her eyes as she stood and brushed herself off. She saw just a blank wall, but as she approached it, she noted the wall went _in_ and turned into another forked passage. Her face lit up. "Thank you! Thank you so much!" she said, starting down the right-hand path.

The worm named Mrs. Hudson shook her head. "Silly dear. Should've gone left. Would've taken her right to the castle."

oOoOo

The Goblin King sat in his throne, well, more like he _reclined_. He watched his subjects cavort around the room as he kept an eye on the clock and his newest acquisition, the tall consulting detective. "I have to give you credit," he said, raising an eyebrow. "You're much more collected than others who have found themselves in your particular situation: surrounded by goblins in a castle with an incompetent little _mouse_ running my maze. All to get you out."

Sherlock's eyes were flying all over the room, taking in every single detail he could. "There's nothing to be gained by acting like a child."

"Yes, and that's who gets wished away most often. Children. So, imagine the look of _surprise_ on my face when I get a grown man instead of a brat," he said, stretching his eyes and mouth wide in a look of feigned shock before he chuckled.

"Mock surprise. Mostly because you expected me long ago."

"Well well... _very_ bright indeed. Yes, I've had my eye on you for quite some time. And our dear little Miss Molly was the one to deliver you to me, just as I planned. A bit later than expected, but nonetheless she pulled through," he said, unable to contain a cold grin.

"And you wish for my... _companionship_ because you're bored? Not surprising given the company you keep," the detective sneered

"Yes, well, your mind is quite brilliant. Almost as brilliant as mine. And I _do_ so need someone to keep me occupied. And it can't be helped. I am, after all, the King. I can't choose my subjects, and it's not my fault if they're so _dull_."

"But turn me into one of them? You'll lose the 'play thing' you seem to desperately crave."

Jim snorted. "Like I'd honestly turn you into one of _them_. No, no... no such fate rests in store for you, my dear detective."

"Then however did you convince Molly to run the maze? She must think something is at stake."

"Well, while I won't turn you into a goblin, I _did_ say that you would become one of _us_. My plaything. So there is indeed something at stake, Sherlock Holmes. At least, she seems to think so." Then he scowled. "And I didn't _convince_ her to run the maze. She did that all on her own."

"Well... I'd rather not become anything of yours, so if you'll excuse me-"

The doors clanged shut and the goblins gathered in front of it, looking decidedly more threatening, showing off sharp jagged teeth and crude weapons. "Oh... I think not," Jim said softly.

"Let me go."

"Let me think on that for a moment... _no_. The only way you'll be free is if that chit of a girl manages to run the labyrinth in thirteen hours or less and get here. And she certainly won't be able to do it, no matter how she tries," Jim said, smirking.

"My fate in the hands of the pathologist. _Lovely_."

"Oh? No fondness for _your_ pathologist? She is yours, after all... and she was _so_ adamant about running to win you back. Despite everything I offered her," he said.

"I want nothing to do with her. She loves me, it is not returned, so she lashed out like a spoiled little child."

"Yes, well, you were so _wonderfully_ cruel to her..." Jim said, admiration in his voice.

"And I suppose you can do better."

"Possibly. Just barely. After all, you're the one who smashed her heart. So nasty, even after she's done so much for you. Anything I could do to her would probably pale in comparison to what you'd be able to do."

"Yes, but you can deny her me."

"And you've done plenty of that yourself. I just enjoy watching her _run_. So certain she can bring you back. Pathetic little fool," he snorted.

"Pathetic indeed. Perhaps we do agree on something after all."

Jim chuckled and nodded. "I'm still surprised that she cares for you... even if she knows you don't." His eyes went alight. "In that case, you probably don't mind if I add a little more to her run." He turned to one of the goblins that stood by the throne. "Go notify the Hunter that I might have need of his services," he said. The goblin nodded and bowed, then scuttled off.

"Who-ah. Your best. The very best. Of course."

"Of course. After all... she can't run if she's dead."

"What is your title? This race you govern called? How did you bring me here? What is that crystal? How far along in the maze is she? What will the Hunter do to her?"

"To answer your questions; I am the Goblin King, the race I govern are called, well, goblins. I brought you here through the Right Words, which little Molly used, to wish you away. The crystal is just that, a crystal. How far in the maze she is, that is irrelevant, she'll never solve it. And the Hunter?" he chuckled. "I guess the question is what _won't_ he do to her. He hasn't had a good hunt or good prey in such a _long_ time, and that tends to make him testy."

"Sounds like you're not being a very good master to him. Not providing him with enough _to_ hunt."

"Oh no, I do. But it provides so little of a challenge to him, unfortunately. The best, I think, lasted almost an hour before he caught them. And that was four days ago."

Sherlock's eyes widened slightly. "It would seem he needs new hunting grounds."

"Hardly. He likes it here, it's just that his prey is weak."

"Is he coming here first?"

"Yes. He won't be set out until I need him."

"And what would be cause enough for you to need him?"

"In case, against all odds, your Molly gets farther than I'd like."

"She's not _mine._ "

"Oh, but she _is_. Doing all those things for you without question... fetching corpses and parts, sometimes risking her job. Dressing up for you, asking if you want coffee... all that is for _you_. And you brush her aside like an annoyance, without a word of thanks," Jim said, tsk-ing. "You know, Sherlock, you need to take better care of your _toys_."

The detective rolled his eyes and sat at the edge of the pit in the center of the floor, as far away from Jim as possible.

"Well, when she _does_ fail... wonder if I should keep her. Put her on a shelf somewhere. That is, what's left of her."

"You say I'm almost as smart as you. Seems like rather a dangerous boast, don't you think?"

"Sherlock, it's not a boast.... it's a fact."

"Prove it, then. Go on. Show off."

"You're a consulting detective, only one in the world. Had a problem with drugs when you were younger, naughty boy. Work with the Scotland Yard, helping them when they're totally stuck and/or incompetent, which is most of the time. Your older brother has a 'small position in the British Government', which isn't so small after all. You talk to a skull when you're bored, and you play the violin. Also, you're far too attached to your mother. To call her _Mummy_ at your age? Please."

"It keeps the arguments and rows to a bare minimum."

"Hm. Anyway, I've had my eye on you for quite some time... the brilliant Sherlock Holmes."

"And why is that? Want a new trophy?"

"No, no. Merely someone who I can actually _talk_ to who doesn't have an inappropriate obsession with chickens and an eight word vocabulary," Jim said, sneering at a goblin who was cuddling a chicken and another who was wobbling drunkenly, tankard in hand.

"Then talk."

Smirking, Jim began.

oOoOo

The walls of the labyrinth seemed to loom everywhere, closing in and then thinning out only to brig Molly right back to the same crossroad she'd been at three times already.

"AUGH!" she yelled in frustration, her voice echoing on the stone walls. She glared as a faint snickering seemed to be coming from the darker corners. "Isn't there a door or something? Or a passage? It's just walls and dead ends!"

"Only if that's what you think you can see."

She jumped at the guffaws and turned. There was a set of two doors in front of her, with two guardians for each door. "But... but wasn't this a dead end a minute ago?" she asked hesitantly.

"Yes."

"No it wasn't"

"Oh you lie!"

"Wait, all right. So, you have doors. Which one should I go through? Can you at least tell me that much?"

"You are allowed to ask one question-"

"-but one of us always tells the truth-"

"-and the other one always lies."

Molly thought. She thought for a while. Then she finally figured out what she hoped was a foolproof question. "All right, one question. If I were to ask you if _his_ door," she said, gesturing to the red guardian on her left, "was the one to go through, would you be lying if you said 'yes'?"

"Uhhhh... no?"

"So _you_ would be lying if you said yours was the one to go through, so I'd go through his door anyway... I think," she said, moving towards the other door. The guardians moved aside to let her pass. "I think I'm getting the hang of this!" she said cheerfully. Then she shrieked as the floor gave way beneath her, dropping her into a long dark tunnel.


	5. Have to Stop Her

Back in the throne room, Sherlock, in spite of himself, found he was drawn to the orb Jim was poring over. "What is it?"

Jim snarled as he saw the image of the mousy pathologist staring up from the hole she had been dropped into. "She's in the oubliette," he spat. The goblins started laughing. "Shut up!" he hissed, and they did. "She should never have gotten this far, she should have _given up_ by now."

"Well, well, looks like you can't plan for _everything_ -"

The shorter being rounded on Sherlock. "I have done nothing _but_ plan for longer than I care to remember," he said, his features enraged. Then a grin broke out across his face. He walked over to a sturdy-looking goblin. "Go fetch the Hunter. I _will_ be in need of his services after all," he said. The goblin gulped and nodded before running off to obey the command.

The detective glance at the Goblin King. "So... your hired man, then. What are you going to have him do, exactly?"

Jim rolled his eyes. "What do you think, since you're the _genius_?"

"Just wanted to see what you'd say. _Obviously_ , you're going to have her tracked and killed before she can reach the center. God, _dull_."

" _Duh_. Although... I might not have her killed. Not right away..." he mused as he paced.

"Tortured, possibly mangled... somehow, I can see you giving other orders but not getting involved. Like to keep your hands clean."

"Of course. Human blood is disgusting. Not to mention full of iron," he said, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

"Oh? Is there something wrong with iron?" Sherlock was genuinely curious, his thirst for knowledge in the face of something completely alien and foreign shining through.

"Surprised you haven't studied up on your folklore, Sherly," Jim said, arching an eyebrow. "Iron burns those like myself, fatal to us if we ingest it."

"Until now it was dull and inapplicable to my work."

Jim sighed. "Dull... you do seem to be fond of that word."

"Simply because so many things are. Like this room for instance." Sherlock gestured to the drunken slumber many of the subjects were in, the various chickens and things around. "Not that the initial shock has worn off... _dull_."

"I'm beginning to wonder if I should let you run my Labyrinth too," he said, oscillating his head a bit.

"Please. What would be the point? Any idiot knows you turn right not left when you reach the worm. That was her big mistake."

"And who's to say that it will be the same when you run it?" Jim retorted, smirking slightly.

"You would change one of the only fixed points in your maze, possibly the only thing that stays constant every time just to _mess_ with me? And why would I run it? I have nothing to gain or lose. If I'm stuck here, then I'm stuck here at the very least until you grow bored with me."

"Or until I up the stakes..." he said. A sudden hissing whisper broke out from the goblins who were still awake; there was a large figure at the door. Jim grinned. "Aaaah... Sherly, my dear, meet my Hunter. Sebastian... so good to see you," he said as the figure revealed himself.

"James," the blonde murmured, nodding curtly and sweeping into the room, kneeling at the King's feet. "What is your will?"

"We have a... _friend_ of our guest here, running the Labyrinth to win him back. She's in one of the oubliettes... I'm sure that little dwarf... Jack or Jonah or whatever his name is... will lead her out of it again. So, my Tiger... you have _prey_ ," Jim said, grinning sinisterly.

The Hunter's head snapped up, his eyes darkening with bloodlust and his mouth twisting in the mockery of a grin. "A proper hunt... well then... how would you like her served, my Lord?"

"Oh, I have a thought or two. Rare, most certainly," he said, showing his teeth that seemed just a bit shaper than before. "I'll be sure to send you instructions as soon as I know exactly what I want."

Sebastian gathered the hem of Jim's cloak and kissed it before standing. "I swear it shall be done," he hissed before turning on the spot and vanishing, his eyes the last to go.

Jim smirked as he sat back in his throne. "Now then... there's a cat to chase our mouse. I can't wait until he catches her... then the fun will _really_ begin," he said.

For once in his life, Sherlock bit his tongue and, again, debated making a run for it. The thought of Molly being tortured... well, that really didn't sit well with him. Jim, observant being that he was, caught the faint disquiet that lingered around his newest guest. He chuckled softly to himself. This was going to be priceless to watch.

oOoOo

In the oubliette, Molly felt around; it was damp and dark, the only light coming from the hole she fell through. Without that light, it was going to be pretty  near useless to try and find her way out, and she had no other means of illumination.

"Given up yet?"

Molly shrieked as she heard the unexpected voice of that little dwarf she met earlier. "J-John! No, I haven't," she said stolidly, still feeling around.

"You'll never get out if you go about it like that. You're in an oubliette. There _is_ no way out."

"There has to be. If there's a way in, then there's a way _out_ ," she said determinedly. "Although a little more light wouldn't go amiss..."

Rolling his eyes and muttering, John lit a torch, the flames casting a flickering, dancing glow on the close, gloomy stone walls and ceiling. She blinked as her eyes suddenly dilated from the light source. "Thank you, John," she said. Now that she could see, she managed to look around and, to her dismay, he was right. There was no way out. "So... how would you go about getting out, then? Ideas?" she said, her voice tinged with a bit of hopelessness.

"If I were you, I'd be lookin' for a door."

"Door. Right," she said. Her eyes lit up as she saw a small door on the wall to the far left. "Aha!" she cried in triumph. She opened it up; a mess of mops, brooms and buckets came tumbling out. She huffed in frustration. "So much for that one," she grumbled.

John started laughing. "No, not like that... of course... _I_ could always show you the way."

"Could you, please?" she said, her eyes shining with hope.

"No."

"Why not?" she demanded.

"Because Jim'd have me dunked into the Bog of Eternal Stench. And besides, you don't have anything to pay me with even if I was gonna think about helping you."

She noted the little chain of baubles he kept at his waist. Upon closer inspection, it was little pots of jam. She suddenly had an idea. "I... _could_ let you have these," she said, reaching into the pocket of her jeans and withdrawing the small packages of orange marmalade that she had put in there from the cantina at St. Bart's. John's eyes widened and he made a grab for them.

"Ah ah ah! No jam unless you show me the way out of here, and the way to the center of the Labyrinth," she said, holding them out of his reach.

The dwarf stood there for a long minute before rolling his eyes and sighing. " _Fine_."

"Thank you!" she said, watching closely how he opened the door. Closing the broom cupboard, John opened the door from the opposite side, letting in warm sunlight and a faint breeze.

Molly laughed, delighted. "Thank you!" she said as she walked through the door, out of the dark, cramped oubliette into the freer air of the Labyrinth. "Now... to the center!"


	6. Ballroom

In a clearing deep in the Twisted Wood, the Hunter materialized. Dead leaves swirled at his feet, his tattered cloak lifting gently in the faint breeze as he turned on the spot, sniffing the air. His blue eyes were closed, shutting down his sense of sight to sharpen his nose until... _there_.

Death.

Flowers.

Woman.

_Fear._

The blonde creature grinned, his pointed teeth glinting in the faint light of the sun. With sure footsteps, he set out on the trail, already planning what to do with his prey when he caught it.

oOoOo

Molly stretched under the sunlight. She was glad to be free of the oubliette; it didn't sit well with her. "So... which way do we go now?" she asked John.

"Back to the beginning," was his reply.

" _What_?! I _can't_ go back to the beginning! I have to save him!" she said, her voice indignant.

"And if I want to keep my head, I can't take you there!" the dwarf insisted, crossing his arms. "It's a hopeless cause, if Jim wants your man or whatever. He always gets his way."

"Then take me as far as you can," she begged.

John sighed, glancing at Molly, and there was something about her eyes that melted him slightly. "All right!!! Fine. I can... can take you through the forest, but that's it! I go no further than that."

She beamed. "Thank you! Thank you so much!" she exclaimed as she bent and wrapped her arms around the ornery dwarf.

He froze, startled by the sudden affection, and though he'd never admit it, he rather liked the hug. "Yes, fine, whatever," he said gruffly, shifting an pulling back before starting down the path. "Well? Keep up!"

"Oh! Right," she said as she followed him. The path twisted and turned and wound its way, through stone passages and hedge maze walls. Then they reached the edge of the forest; it was all twisted and misshapen, and a prickle of fear ran up Molly's spine. Something... something was in there.

 _...the smell was closer, stronger, the Hunter barely relying on his eyes and focusing in on the scent. It was cloying now, almost overpowering in his nostrils... too_ sweet _... almost sickly sweet_...

"Oh! Before I forget... here's your payment," Molly said, giving John the packets of orange marmalade. "For getting me out of the oubliette."

He took them eagerly, examining them and opening one to taste, its contents disappearing down his gullet in the blink of an eye. Reverently, he placed the others in a pouch on his belt. "Thank you, Molly."

She beamed at him. "You're welcome, John. You're a good friend, for taking me all this way and getting me out of that place," she said sincerely. She turned and peered into the dimness of the forest and swallowed hard. That prickle was back again, and it made her want to run the opposite direction. But if she had to go that way, then that way she must go.

... _So close, ever so close, far too_ easy _but he hadn't been on a proper hunt in ages... the creature came to a stop a few feet from the edge of the forest and got the first proper look at his prey. The woman was thin and mousy, breasts and lips far too small, and she was accompanied by the dwarf... ugh, irritating little thing, expendable, could be fun to play cat and mouse though-no, cowardly and limping. No fun at all. The blonde melted into the shadows to wait; the forest was his terrain, his hunting ground, and very soon, they would come to him. Then he could_ play...

Taking a breath, Molly stepped inside the forest. It instantly felt like the temperature dropped three degrees and she shivered, rubbing her arms through her thin cotton jumper. She started walking along the path; there was no birdsong, no squirrels scampering around and scolding her from the trees. The light seemed muted and dull, the air stifling and stale. She wanted to get out of there as soon as she could.

_Sebastian shifted in the shadows, eyes trained on the girl and the dwarf as he decided how far to let them get, his lips curling into a hideous, predatory grin when he chose what to do. Creeping forward and darting slightly ahead, he set his trap and waited, curled up on the branch of a tree like a tiger._

"Is it _always_ this quiet in here?" she asked John. "It's a bit creepy."

"Not good," the dwarf mumbled, jumping at the slightest noise. "Only when _he's_ around which means you're not safe."

"He? Who is _he_? Is it Jim?" she asked, looking around like there was the possibility of the Goblin King hiding behind a tree or sitting on a rock somewhere.

"N-no... _the Hunter_."

"The who?" Molly didn't like the sound of that.

"He's Jim's 'pet', neither Goblin nor Fey nor Human, something different, unnatural... loyal only to the King and silent as the grave. Once he has your scent, you'll never escape."

She shivered. "Then... then we need to get through this quick so we don't have the chance of meeting him," she said, her words bold despite the tendril of fear that was starting to grow stronger, wrapping around her spine and her heart as her feet continued to move forward.

"I don't think-" John started, but then he stumbled, tumbling to the ground as he heard a tiny whistling in the air and a very soft -thwap- as the dart hit home.

Molly hissed as something stung her neck. She slapped her hand to the spot and pulled out a small dart with ash-gray feathers. "Ah... John..." she said as she looked at it. Then, the world began to spin and weave. She staggered slightly off the path to lean against a tree. "Everything's dancing..." she murmured, trying and failing to get her bearings.

"Oh no, no, no, no... what have I _done_?" the dwarf moaned, turning tail and bolting down the path as fast as his limp would allow.

 _The Hunter smiled, enjoying the little show. Once she was gone completely into the hallucination, he'd take her away_.

oOoOo

Molly shut her eyes and opened them again; her eyelids were so heavy. She smiled; the forest had melted away and she was in a ballroom. A grand ballroom, filled with dancing couples, their gowns and suits elegant and rich, their masks beautiful and grotesque. She hummed along with the music and swayed to its rhythm.

"Will you dance with me, Miss Hooper? Molly?"

She flushed a brilliant red. Sherlock; in a black suit with a black mask that accented those brilliant eyes. "I- yes, Sherlock, I'll dance with you," she said, tamping down her inner glee.

A smirk twitching his lips, the detective took her hand and led her to the floor, easily picking up the waltz.

She beamed up at him, her red dress floating around her ankles as she moved in the steps of the waltz (1). She could hardly believe it; finally, he was looking _at_ her, not _through_ her. The music washed over them, Sherlock's midnight black tails and bird-like mask just accentuating how ethereal and otherworldly he already was, still smirking ever so slightly as he danced with the pathologist, his hand tightening possessively at her waist. She shivered a bit as she felt Sherlock's grip tighten, drawing her closer to him. "You dance wonderfully," she said as he spun her, out and away before drawing her back in, close and tight.

"It's simply observation, noting how bodies move in time with outside forces like music or to inner rhythms like that of the heartbeat," he replied softly.

She flushed and felt her own heartbeat speed at his voice. "R-really," she managed to say breathlessly. "That explains a lot, actually."

"Oh? And what might that explain to you, Miss Hooper," Sherlock whispered in her ear.

She gasped and swallowed hard, her skin prickling into goosebumps. "Ah... that how... how well people move together. It's because they sync to an internal rhythm," she said.

"When two become one."

Her heart beat so fast that it sounded like a hum in her ears. "I... suppose you could say that," she murmured. Oh this was just perfect; she could hardly believe it.

"You know it to be true, Miss Hooper. The way you look at me, the longing in your eyes... did you know that your breathing always syncs to mine when I'm around?"

"Ah. D-does it?" Of course he'd notice something like that. She shifted in his arms, far more conscious of his warmth and the feeling of his body against hers.

His hand twitched at her waist, fingers rubbing gentle circles against the fabric of her dress. "It does. Your pupils dilate, you tend to stammer... I always notice a change in your hair or lipstick, when you wear lower cut blouses. Even if I remain silent, I always notice _everything_."

"Of course you do. You're brilliant," she murmured, flushing and focusing intently on his shirt buttons instead of his face.

"Consulting detective, the only one in the world... and missing the final piece to make my life complete."

Her head snapped up. "And what's that?" she asked, almost not wanting to know.

His piercing gaze met hers, seeming to see into her soul. " _You_."

Her breath, her heart, they stuttered and stopped for a moment before they came back with a vengeance. Her soft brown eyes went wide. "R-really?" she asked, hardly daring to believe what she was hearing.

Sherlock nodded once. "I'm only cruel and distant because I cannot face how I feel, fear how it may change me... but you could do it. _You_ could make the final leap." He stilled them both in the center of the dance floor, taking her hands in his. "Be with me, Molly. Complete me. Say yes, and I'll truly love you, and we shall become one."

She laughed, a soft, breathless laugh of joy. "Yes. _Yes_ , Sherlock, of course..."

He seemed to smile and took her face in his hands, bending slightly to kiss her mouth, his lips moving slowly and sweetly against hers, his curious tongue seeking entrance and exploring, his eyes closed in bliss. She returned the kiss gladly. But then something was whispering in her ear. "Liar," it hissed. "This isn't real. Look around you. This is a dream. He'd never say that, not to you." She pulled away, shocked to be thinking such a thing... and then she saw. She _saw_. The mask, it was more than just that. It wasn't Sherlock at all. She pushed away, tears brimming in her eyes. "Of course," she choked. "Of _course_." And she ran.

Jim smirked and started to laugh, his cackle echoing in the room and following her. "He'll _never_ love you. You should see him with me. He doesn't even _care_!"

Half-blind now, staggering, Molly ran. She pushed through the couples, now laughing and pointing, until she reached the walls of the ballroom. She saw her own reflection, and she hated it: a sham, a mockery. Picking up a chair, she smashed the fragile glass and the image broke.

"Hurry little mouse! Time presses on... and you're destined to be _mine_!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1)- Red: color of desire (what she wants) and the color of love (because she's in love with Sherlock). Also; the color of blood; of warning, of /danger./


	7. What's In Her Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Torture warning

Molly floated, falling downwards, ever downwards, until she came back to herself. She woke with a start, manacled to a wall in a great stone room. There were metal things hanging around her, some dull, some sharp, but all were wicked-looking, devices meant to cause pain and misery. A torture chamber. She swallowed hard.

"Ever so nice of you to rejoin the world, mouse."

Her head snapped up. Jim. She felt her eyes grow cold and hard. "What do _you_ want?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

The Goblin King smiled, swaying from side to side, hands in his pockets. "How do you like my labyrinth?"

Tilting her chin up defiantly, she glared at him. "It's a piece of cake."

"Oh?" A single eyebrow went up and the clock with her time appeared. "Then you won't mind if I up the stakes a bit." Turning his finger in a circle, Jim took three hours off, reducing Molly to only six remaining hours to solve the puzzle.

"That isn't fair!" she exclaimed, pulling at the chains and just chafing her wrists for her trouble.

" _Fair_?" Jim was suddenly centimeters from her face, his eyes burning with otherworldly fire. "If you wanted fair, you should have stayed in your world among the mortals. I am not to be trusted as your dear Sherlock can tell you." He pulled a crystal from the air, twirling and rolling it before showing her Sherlock's face. "Say hello, pet."

"Sherlock!" she said, her voice filled with relief. "You're all right..."

He rolled his eyes. "If you're going to insist on this childish behavior, Moriarty, you can forget it. I've told you before, I'm not playing your little games."

Jim laughed. "And who said you have the choice? Now, Sherly dear, now you get to _watch_ , " he said, grinning. Sherlock's eyes widened slightly as Jim threw the crystal into the air where it hovered and spun, growing until it showed a decent amount of the room. "Tiiiiiiigeeeeerrrrr... oh Tiiiigggeeerrrrrr."

Seb walked out of the shadows and knelt by his king's side. Molly's eyes widened. So... this must be the Hunter John had been so afraid of. Jim smirked, trailing his fingers up and down the creature's arm. "Are you ready, dear pet?"

The blonde looked adoringly up into Jim's face. "Always ready for your bidding, my King," he said.

" _That's_ my perfect Tiger." Jim bent and pressed a kiss to Sebastian's lips, his fingers carding through the blonde's curls. "You know the rules," he murmured, nicking Seb's lip and drawing blood. "No death, leave her face, and keep it in your pants. Other than that... _have at her_." Seb looked at the woman in front of him and grinned. This was going to be _fun_.

Molly swallowed hard and trembled a bit. But she kept her eyes fixed on them. The worst thing she could do was show fear, right? The creature stood, all smooth movements and easy gestures. He sauntered forward, more sinew and muscle than actual being. "Well then... such a generous gift from my King," he purred, picking up a wickedly curved and ornately engraved dagger. "Where to start?"

"Oooh, I don't know," Jim drawled. "Wherever you _want_. She's yours to play with, after all," he said as he disappeared, materializing back in the throne room. The crystal was still there, showing the chamber and Molly, Seb standing before her, drawn knife in hand. "Now, Sherly," Jim said as he sat in the great silk and bone chair, "the fun _really_ starts."

oOoOo

Molly eyed the knife and then flicked her gaze back to the creature holding it. She pressed her back into the wall, as if she could disappear into it as he advanced, his eyes roving over her.

"The marvelous thing about this particular blade is that it's been enchanted by the King himself, causes the injured to both tell the truth and to experience agonizing pain from all other wounds inflicted by any instrument of torture for as long as the wielder wants. Now, _this_ one," he picked up a different weapon that resembled a corkscrew, "I frequently use this to bore tiny holes in my victims and then pack the holes with whatever I want, usually salt, sometimes pepper, occasionally... _acid_."

Molly whimpered, the chains starting to rattle slightly as she began to shake.

"Are you scared, little mouse? Want to scamper on home? I wouldn't blame you. Most who meet me don't survive the first five minutes. I get to really _play_ with you and draw it out. I wonder how much pain you can take before you shatter, hmmm?"

"O-of course I'm scared," she said softly. She fought hard not to cry. "I'm terrified. I want to go home... but I can't. Not yet."

"And why not? We've given you so many chance, so many opportunities to live, go back, or to stay as a queen. Everything you could possibly wish for at your feet." Seb twirled the cursed knife in his hands, staring past the blade at his captive.

"Because I have to get Sherlock back... I have to get him home," she said. "I'm... I'm not a queen. I don't want to _be_ a queen. I'm just... I'm just a pathologist. I..." her voice got very small and quiet. "I don't count. But he does. People need him, so that's why I can't go home."

"The only being who needs him anymore is Jim... and you're right. You _don't_ count. You're tiny, pathetic, sniveling, insignificant... and done for." On the last words, the blade flicked out, neatly slicing through her shirt and laying a thin stripe of blood visible against her skin. "Whoops! I can be ever so clumsy."

Molly cried out in pain as the cut, even though it was small, _burned_. She clenched her teeth and tried to be quiet.

oOoOo

Jim giggled. "Oooh, look at that! He's right, you know," he said, turning aside to Sherlock. "Such a _brave_ little mouse. So brave. And so _stupid_ ," he snorted.

The detective sat stone faced, observing with a detached eye and deliberately ignoring Jim.

oOoOo

" _Pathetic_. That's barely anything, mouse. I've had millennia to hone in my skills and I've been without a hunt for the past three centuries so tell me... what do you think I should do next? I'll be generous. Whatever you pick is what I'll use."

She let out a harsh chuckle that ended in a sob. "Why does it matter? Whatever you use is going to hurt, whether I pick it or not," she said, her voice bitter.

"Yes, but I want to see how your mind works, little mouse."

"Just... just use that dagger. It doesn't matter," she said after a moment of thought.

"Oh... now I see... so the truth is your weakness. Shall we find out your secrets?" A matching line of blood appeared on her other arm and a small 'x' on her chest, just to the side of her right shoulder. "The closer to the heart, the stronger the curse."

She hissed and cried out, tears beginning to form in her eyes. The dagger felt like it had been dipped in fire and salt and acid; it burned and stung and cut, making her feel like there were needles sinking into her skin and pulling back with barbs.

"Now... tell me everything about this Sherlock, and if you stop talking, I'll start carving a map into your chest that leads to your heart."

"H-he's a consulting detective," she said, the words spilling from her lips. "He solves crimes."

"How do you know him?"

"I work in the morgue at St. Bartholomew's Hospital; I'm a pathologist and I help him with his cases."

"But he's your hopeless case, the one you can never solve. Isn't that _right_?" He cut a small slit and then another, the makings of a dotted line in her skin leading from the 'x' in her shoulder.

She screamed and cried. "Yes," she said through sobs. "Yes, he is."

"Describe him to me. I've only seen him once and was less than impressed." Three more dashes made it to her skin, leading down towards the curve of her breast; impatient, the Tiger cut the blouse open, letting it hang in tatters off her shoulders.

"He-he's tall and thin; black curly hair and pale skin. Sharp cheekbones. Big hands, with long fingers. He has a deep voice and a brilliant mind; and the bluest eyes I've ever seen," she said through her gasps of pain.

"What can his eyes do?" Two more marks, one for each eye, trailing just above the breast.

"Take anyone and everything apart; he can tell you your life story after looking at you once. He can stare at you and tell at once if you're lying..."

"What can he tell about you?"

"Th-that I live alone; I have a cat, my father is dead. I... I don't go out much, I don't have many friends. I... my lips and breasts are small and disappointing and m-my taste in clothes is unflattering..."

"Hmmm, right on the last few accounts, although, I haven't looked on females with desire in millennia. Nothing compares to _my King_." The marks crossed over to start traveling above her left breast now, stopping with another 'x' over her heart. "Tell me about your heart. What you feel. How long, why, what makes him so special to you, why you're even doing this task in the first place. Leave nothing out."

She fought; she really did, but the enchantment, the pain, both were too strong. "I've known him for nearly four years. He's... he's brilliant, that's why he's so special. He helps so many people, catches the killers, brings the families of the victims some closure. I... I wished him away because I had a long day and I was tired and he was just... he was just so _cruel_. I didn't mean for it to happen, I swear. And..." she fought again, but it was too much. The next words came out in sobs. "I love him. I've loved him for so long... but he doesn't... doesn't see me. I'm... I am _nothing_."

oOoOo

Jim was nearly cackling. "Oh, this _is_ entertaining, Sherly, isn't it? All those lovely secrets tumbling out. And you _have_ been cruel. So wonderfully cruel to our little mouse," he said, his eyes darting from the image in the crystal to Sherlock's face.

The detective's hands were clenched in his lap, his knuckles white; his lips were pressed together in a thin line. "Stop this," he said softly. "Stop it _now_."

"Why should I?" he asked. He peered into Sherlock's face. "Ooooh.... don't tell me... you feel something? Pity? Guilt? _Affection_? Hardly that last one. I doubt her pretty screams would melt the ice in your heart enough for you to care," Jim scoffed.

"I refuse to sit here and abide by your games while you torture an innocent woman." Shelrock stood and walked away, aware that he wouldn't get very far but trying to make his point clear.

"Too bad!" Jim sing-songed. "It's just so _nice_ to hear what our songbird has to sing for us; all those pretty truths falling from her tongue..."

"I can tune it out, ignore it, forget it. I delete irrelevant information from my mind all the time. This is no different!"

"But it's about _you_ , Sherlock. About how you treat her, how she knows you, what she sees, how she feels. She _loves_ you," Jim said, his face alight with a sickening glee. "I doubt that even _you_ could delete that."

"I _could_. Just you watch me."

Jim laughed. "All right. You're more than welcome to try."

"Let her go, first."

"Why? You _obviously_ don't care..."

"Because now you're just cheating, keeping her chained up in a dingy little cell? Not giving her a chance? Even if your maze isn't fair, you don't keep your mice detained. You like to watch them run around, scurry and try before they fail."

"Hmmm... you _do_ have a point... although I'm tempted to keep her chained just to spite you," he said, smirking.

"It is up to you, I'm just pointing out the rules to your own game." Sherlock shrugged and brushed his hands off, making a half-hearted attempt to sidle out a hidden door he'd found.

Jim noticed and slammed it shut with a wave of his hand. "All right... but Tiger's not going to be happy," he said. "Tiiiiigeeer," he crooned through the crystal. "Change in plans, my pet."

The blonde's head snapped around, his blue eyes narrowing. "Oh, come _on_ , I've _barely_ started!"

"Your fault for not doing more."

"I was taking my time... what did he do? Talk you into it?"

"He reminded me of the _rules_ , pet. Rules that I cannot change."

"You still owe me a proper hunt," the creature grumbled, releasing Molly from the chains and letting her crumple to the floor.

"Of course, Sebby. When she fails... then you can hunt her to your heart's content."

His mouth curled into a feral smile. "Ever so hungry, my King. Am I allowed to come back?" The blonde glanced at the pathologist where she'd fallen. "Get up. Door's that way." He pointed, the wooden thing swinging open to reveal stone and sun.

"You are," Jim said. Molly dragged herself to her hands and knees, still wincing and sobbing in pain, as she crawled to the door. Seb kicked her, herding her out and slamming the door shut, retrieving the crystal and turning on the spot, appearing by the throne seconds later. He knelt by Jim's feet, head bowed in reverence.

"You did _so_ well, my Tiger," he purred as he ran his fingers through Seb's hair. "Such sweet screams you gave us..."

The creature rumbled his assent, leaning into his Master's touch. "I could have done so much more... she's so weak... my King, what I would do for you."

"You _can_ do more... when she fails. I'll let you keep her. Drive her mad over long years of torture: the knife, the rack, the thumbscrews..."

oOoOo

Molly collapsed on the sun-warmed stones, blood flowing from the open wounds in her chest. She tried to get up, but it hurt too much. _Five hours_... her mind whispered. _You have Five hours to save him_... She rolled over and staggered to her feet, clutching her tattered blouse closed as she started to walk on.


	8. Villain

Sherlock sat with his back against the wall, fingers at his temples, and his brow furrowed in complete concentration...

_Screams: delete_

_Sobbing: delete_

_Confession of love: error_

He shook his head and tried again.

_Confession of love: error._

The detective sighed and opened his eyes, groaning. "I'm so /bored/ here."

Jim rolled his eyes and sighed. "Here... try and figure this out," he said, conjuring a crystal and tossing it to Sherlock.

The taller man caught it easily, examining it with undisguised curiosity.

"It's a crystal, nothing more. But if you hold it up to the light and turn it a certain way... it can show you your dreams..." Jim said. Let the clever little bastard try _that_.

oOoOo

Sherlock twisted and turned it, growing frustrated very quickly until an errant thought gave him an idea... thinking very hard about Molly, he held the crystal delicately and twisted it just a hair in the light, enough to make it act like a prism... and there she was.

_...Molly leaned heavily on the walls, trying to ignore the pain as the blood slowed down and began to dry, the cloth of her blouse beginning to stick to the open wounds. She panted a bit, then, steeling herself, pressed the cloth hard into the wounds. She nearly bit through her lip at the pain, but it would stop the bleeding..._

The detective found his chest starting to hurt, growing tight and aching. "Well then... that didn't take very long."

"Aaah, you've found our _mouse_! Is she your dream, then? Although I wouldn't want her like that, all bloody. More like a nightmare," Jim said, smirking as he leaned over Sherlock's shoulder and peered into the crystal.

"She's not my _dream_. The crystal operates on thought, so I gave it something to focus on. That plus making it refract light? Piece of cake."

He glowered. "I'm getting quite tired of that phrase," he said through clenched teeth. "She now has five hours to rescue you and win freedom for you both."

"What? Irritated I figured out your little puzzle so quickly? Hardly worth my time," Sherlock grumbled, tossing the crystal back and forth before throwing it at the nearest wall.

The crystal disappeared before reappearing in Jim's hands. "If this is how you treat all your things, I'm surprised that she let you in the morgue," he said sourly. He conjured up something else. "Here, then. Scale miniature of my Labyrinth. Try it."

Sherlock set it on the floor and stood up, staring down at it. Less than a minute later, "Solved it."

Jim was seething, but he tried to keep his temper. He had an awful idea now, and he grinned. "See that clock?" he said, pointing to the ornate thirteen-hour timepiece on the wall.

"What about it?"

Jim twisted his hand; two hours went by. "There. Now your little pathologist has three hours left to solve my Labyrinth."

Sherlock's eyes widened. "But-that-you-" he spluttered.

He grinned. "Yess?"

The detective's eyes hardened. "That hardly seems just, shortening her time for something I did. Doesn't that seem a little petty to you? Like you're a petulant child who lost his favorite game?"

Jim snorted. "My kingdom, my rules. You'll learn that quickly."

"Again. _Petty and childish_."

The king snarled. "Keep that talk up and I'll have _you_ chained to the walls down there."

"Do it then! It'd be a damn sight better than this dump."

"Wonder how much it'll hurt her to have her _watch_..." Jim mused, tapping his chin with a gloved hand as if in thought.

Sherlock dropped his head into his hands. "Just let me _go_. There is _nothing_ for you to gain anymore, nothing you can do to wow or surprise me. Face it, Jim. I'm _cleverer_ than you."

"Really? After all that I've done, you think so little of me? You think that _you_ , a mere _human_ , can best _me_? Ohh, Sherlock. Stupid, blind Sherlock. How _wrong_ you are."

"Then. _Prove_. It."

Jim grinned. "You want me to prove it? Fine, I shall. Thirty years ago, I was a storyteller in your pathetic world. I told a story, said the _right words_ in the right ear. I've watched you since then, Sherlock. So clever, far too clever for those clods you work for at the Yard, the people who scoff and sneer at you..."

"And yet I've found my place in that 'pathetic world', working and doing what brings me fulfillment in my life. And you... you snivel and simper and act the part, but underneath you're just a lonely little _child_ who can't afford _friends_."

Jim's eyes burned with rage. He grabbed Sherlock by the throat and slammed him into the stone wall. "I can undo you with a thought and a word; you'll want to be very careful with what you say next. That's enough flirting, Sherlock. Daddy's had _enough_ now," he hissed.

Struggling to breathe, the detective managed to gasp, "All-all right! Very... very well..."

Jim smiled thinly and dropped Sherlock. "Glad you understand now."

He rubbed his neck, scowling and stalking off to the corner, curling up out of the way and as from Jim as he could get. Unable to resist the final word, Jim smirked. "The _right words_ in the right ear... haven't you figured it out yet, Sherly?"

"You told her what to say, how to bring me here," he replied tonelessly.

"Of course. You were the villain of that story... the cruel man who so hurt the dear little girl who was so adored by the king," he said. "After all... every faery tale needs a good old-fashioned villain..."


	9. Strong Connection

Molly found herself at the edge of the forest again. There was no longer a chill in the air, but she didn't much care as she walked through, following the path. The wounds on her chest and arms throbbed and stung with each step, but she kept her head high. On her way through, when she was nearly at the other side, she found herself at the foot of a small bridge. She set foot on it to cross, but she was halted right before she could.

"Stop! If you wish to pass, you must meet me in a duel!"

She blinked. Seated on the back of a very large and shaggy bearded collie, was a silver fox-like creature, dressed in bright clothing and wielding a short staff. "A duel?"

"Did you not hear me the first time? I am sworn to guard this bridge with my life! You need my permission to pass."

"I did hear you. And I don't have a weapon, so I therefore cannot duel. May I have your name, good sir?" Molly asked, smiling at the small creature who was bristling at her in a display of ferocity.

"Gregory Lestrade, Defender of the Peace with my faithful, if slightly cowardly, dog Anderson. And what might your name be, my lady?"

"Molly Hooper, pathologist."

"Well then, Molly Hooper, I'm afraid I cannot let you pass without my permission."

"Then... may I have your permission to cross?"

Greg raised his staff then paused. "Oh... uh... no one has ever done that before... yes?"

She beamed at him. "Thank you, noble sir," she said, bobbing a curtsey as if she was wearing a dress.

He started grinning, fairly flattered. "Well then, since we shall not duel, does the lady need protection on her quest?"

"That is most kind of you! I have very little time to get to the castle beyond the Goblin City, and I have no idea what lies ahead," she said.

Greg's eyes widened. "You seek the castle? What madness draws you there? The lady would be far safer anywhere else."

"I have to win someone back," she said, peering into the distance. She could just see the spires of the castle beyond the growths of the forest.

"If your heart is set on it then, to win back your love, then in that most honorable quest we shall accompany you and protect you to the best of our ability. Even to death!"

She smiled again, a bit sadly. "I hope it doesn't come to that," she said, clutching her tattered blouse around her tighter. "Shall we be off, then?"

His eyes narrowed. "The lady is injured."

Molly froze a bit. "I... it's nothing. Just a scratch."

He shook his head. "Nonsense. Come with us. It won't take but a moment, but there is a healer in this forest, almost to the great Garbage Dump before the Gates. She can heal your injuries."

She nodded and followed as Gregory spurred his... steed to a walk.

oOoOo

The trek took less than five minutes, and soon they stopped outside a little hut built between two trees. "She's quite kind and very wise. She cares for us here. Go on. We shall guard the door."

"Thank you," she said. She knocked hesitantly at the door.

"Come in, dearie. That's a nasty curse you've got."

Molly blinked. She ducked under the door frame and had to stoop a little in the smallness of the cabin. "How could you tell?"

"I'm a healer, dearie. I know a great many things. Sarah Sawyer at your humble service." She smiled fondly at Molly. "It's my _job_ to know. And Greg was very kind to bring you. He's a good being with a large heart."

She smiled. "That he is. And thank you," she said. She looked around the cabin; it was homey, with the medicinal smell of herbs and flowers, camphor and wool. It reminded of her grandmother's cottage in the country, bringing back memories of her childhood.

"Now then... I take it the Hunter got his claws in you... oh, but that's a nasty curse." She started bustling about, pulling different herbs and potions and combining them in a small bowl on the table, making a bright green paste. "Now, this curse is such a violent red it nearly makes me ill."

"Curse? Violent red?" Molly asked, her head nearly spinning with the unfamiliar terms.

"The curse on the blade that cut you. It left red residue behind, poisoning you. Red hooks into anger, binds you firmly to the ground and kills the love, which is green. Hence, the antidote must be the proper color to strengthen what was hurt by the curse, and if the cure is stronger, then the curse is broken." She gently began applying the paste to the little angry red wounds on Molly's skin. The pathologist hissed as the antidote burned and stung, frothing a bit at the edges.

"Focus, child. You must focus. You have a very strong love in you, keeps you going. Pour all your energy into it. Make it as strong as you can."

She grit her teeth, closed her eyes and thought: thought of him, coming through the doors of the morgue, of those rare, quicksilver smiles, of how he acted when he put the pieces of the puzzle together, solving the case, how he'd swagger off, that coat of his billowing behind him, of that rich baritone that she loved to hear.

Sarah gasped. "For the love of all that is Fey..."

Molly's eyes fluttered open, and, staring at her, a look of surprise on her face, was Sherlock. Albeit it was a small version, trapped within a crystal that sat on Sarah's table, but it was him. "Sherlock!" she said, her eyes wide. "Are you all right?"

"Y-yes... I suppose. I doubt this will last long, and you're lucky the King is not currently in the Throne room."

She let out a brief laugh. "I'm just... I'm glad you're not hurt," she said.

"I know you are, Molly. You really should get out of here while you can. The further you get from this place, the better."

She set her jaw and shook her head. "I'm not leaving. Not without you. I got you into this mess, so I have to get you out of it."

"No, you don't seem to comprehend just what they are planning when you arrive. They're-" His head snapped up. "I cannot stay. Get out! Get out while you can!"

"Not without _you_ ," she said softly. "I can't."

"Molly-" But then Sherlock was gone, replaced by Jim. "So, little pet, stubborn as ever I see."

She blanched, but held her ground. "Yes, I am," she said, tilting her chin upward at a defiant angle.

"Well then, only two and a half hours left. Then Tiger gets to have his fun with you for real this time."

"Two and a half? I... I had five!"

"Yes, and dearest Sherly lost you two about thirty minutes ago! Isn't this fun?"

She glared at him. "Hear me, Goblin King. I _will_ get to the castle. I _will_ get him back, and we will _both_ be going home," she said, her tone brooking no argument.

"Whatever you say, pet. But you should hurry if that's your plan. Tiger and his knives grow restless, and Sherly keeps testing my patience. Not sure if I'll let him keep his head or not."

"I _won't let_ you hurt him," she said, her voice loud and certain.

"Oh Tiger... chain him to the wall. Nothing says he has to be unharmed when she gets here."

She went pale and the image winked out. She began to stand. "Thank you for your help, but I need to go. I can't waste another second," she said to Sarah as she started to head to the door.

"One more second, dearie."

She paused, wondering what the gentle healer wanted her to see; rummaging in a bin, Sarah pulled out a small vial. "In case you need it."

"What is it?" she asked, holding the vial up to the light.

"You'll know what to do when the time comes, but it can give you what you want the most."

Molly nodded and tucked the little vial into the pocket of her jeans. She turned to the door, but turned back, knelt, and wrapped her arms around the small healer, holding her tight for a brief moment. "Thank you, Sarah. Thank you so much," she said sincerely.

"Go kick that pompous git in the arse for us, eh?"

She laughed. "I'll do more than that, hopefully. Thank you again!" Molly called as she left the cottage, her hand lifted in farewell. She found Gregory and his hound, Anderson, at the edge of the clearing where the hut was. "All set," she said. "Let's go... we have less time than I thought."


	10. Break the Spell

Greg knew a shortcut, and in no time at all, they stood before the great Garbage Dump, a veritable maze in and of itself. "This is the last thing right before the city, right?" Molly asked her protector and guide.

"It is, fair lady. Many things appear here that are lost, but it is easy to become distracted. We must be on our guard."

She nodded, determined. "Then let's go." Unfortunately, it soon became clear that they were hopelessly lost, the piles so tall that the group couldn't even see the city walls. Molly groaned. "We're never going to make it through in time at this rate," she said as she sat down on a pile of garbage to rest her weary feet.

"Oi! Geroff me!"

She started and jumped. She knew that voice. "John?" she said, peering through the mounds of refuse. "Is that you?"

"No, it's the Door Knocker. Are you going to help me or not?"

Molly rummaged her way through the trash and grabbed one of John's arms, pulling him free of the refuse; he stumbled, catching himself on her blouse. "Oh. You're alive then."

"Yes, I am."

"Good. Well then, I'm off-"

"Ah, ah, ah. Not so fast... you failed to uphold the other part of our bargain," Molly said, a bit sternly.

"What? The city is just over that ridge and the castle is inside. I don't wanna face Jim in the state he's probably in right now. Nor the Hunter neither."

"Yes, but we'll need your help going through the city. Gregory here has lived in the forest for I don't know how long, and I don't know which streets to take. It's not like I can just go up and ask for directions..."

"Every single road leads straight to the palace. And the thing is huge, not hard to find. Now _please_ , let me go."

Molly sighed. "Fine, I'll do it alone, then." She fished the small vial out of her pocket. "Wonder what Sarah meant when she said it'd come in handy..." she murmured, staring at it.

John's eyes widened. "Oh God and Goddess, you be careful with that." Then, "Wait, you saw Sarah? On second thought... yeah, I should probably show you as far as I can. Jim terrifies me, but Sarah is scarier than he is when she's cross."

"Yeah, she helped fix me up and she gave me this," she said, gesturing to the vial before she stowed it away in her pocket carefully. "So... you're in then? Lovely! Let's go, we've got precious little time left," she said, smiling at first, then biting at her lip in a worried fashion.

Greg placed his hand on her arm. "My lady, never fear. We shall help you to rescue your love or die in the attempt." Anderson didn't like that last part, pawing nervously at the ground.

"I should hope that it won't come to that. And... well... he's my love, but... I'm not his. So... we'll just rescue him and that way we can all get out of here and go back to where we belong," she said, taking a deep breath and starting to walk again after she gave Anderson a comforting pat.

oOoOo

With John's help, they made it through the garbage in record time, coming face to face with the city gates. Molly gulped as they walked up to them... only to find they were flung wide open. There wasn't a soul to be found: not a guard, not a soldier, not even a guide. The city was deserted and eerily quiet. Even the noises of the fountains seemed hushed. An errant black chicken wandered the streets here and there, but quickly went out of sight as soon as they were seen. Everything was heavy and breathless; anticipatory, like the entire city was a thundercloud just before the storm broke. Molly squared her shoulders and kept walking, her guard and her guide at her sides. Up to the castle, beyond the Goblin City, to take back the man that he had stolen. The doors to the castle opened silently, but they only admitted Molly, leaving her friends on the steps. Any door she approached opened at her touch, leading her deeper and deeper into the palace until she opened one final door to see...

"Shhhh, I just got him to sleep, my love."

Her steps faltered, a pain searing through her heart. _Not real not real not real_ , her mind whispered. But... but it was. It looked so solid, so present. The wallpaper was the one from the tiny spare bedroom in her flat, the view from the window was even the same, overlooking the street and the dry cleaners across from it.

"How was your day? I've got a roast in the oven. Trying a new recipe, but it should be delicious." Sherlock turned around and smiled at her, walking forward to pull her close in a warm, tight hug.

Now this... _this_ wasn't an illusion. It was actually him, actually _Sherlock_. He was solid and heavy, he smelled the same; of soap and ink and leather and wool, the faintest whiff of cigarette smoke and violin rosin. She choked back a sob; she had been wrong before. The time limit change was nothing compared to this. _This_ wasn't fair.

"Molly? My little rose, what's wrong? Here, sit. I don't understand why you're crying, my love."

She cried all the harder. "I'm crying because this isn't _real_. None of this is..." she said between breaths, gesturing to the walls and the crib. "This is... this is just inside my head."

"No, no it's not." Sherlock went back to the crib and slowly lifted the sleeping child from it, bringing him back. "Here. You always feel better when you hold Arthur."

Unable to do anything else, she allowed Sherlock to place the sleeping child ( _illusion not real not yours_ ) in her arms. He made a sleepy little grunt and curled into her warmth, his curls falling into his eyes and his little rosebud mouth opening in a yawn. He had Sherlock's cheekbones and nose, the features distinct even through the sweet roundness of baby fat. She swallowed her tears and held the not-child to her chest. _At least, for this moment... this one moment... I have this. I have just... this_ , she thought as she closed her eyes and breathed in deep the smell of their baby. Sherlock wrapped her in a gentle hug, pressing kisses to her temple. "I'm so glad you're home, little rose. All of this, yours and mine."

Another pain lanced through her heart. She broke the embrace and went to put the baby back in his crib. She turned to Sherlock and fished the vial out of her pocket. She knew what it was for, now. "Here, I stopped by that wine shop and they had this free sample liqueur. I thought you'd want to try it," she said, holding it out to him.

"I really shouldn't, Molly. You know I'm making sure I avoid my father's behaviors. I don't want to raise Arthur the way I was."

"It's just a sip, really. Don't worry, I'm not going to get it if you don't like it," she said, pressing it gently into his hand and folding his fingers around it.

"I forgot to kiss you hello!" Pulling Molly back into a gentle embrace, Sherlock bent his head and kissed her, slowly and chastely at first before deepening it, exploring her mouth with almost deductive prowess.

She nearly melted into the kiss, but she pushed back and away. "Stop it... _please_. This... this isn't _you_ , Sherlock. I don't know what he's done to you, but... but you're not like this. All of this, everything, it's all a lie. We don't have a child. We're not married. You don't love me. You never have. You never will," she said, her voice soft and steeped with pain.

He looked confused, cupping her face in his hands. "But we are together, and I _do_ love you, Molly."

"Then how did we start our relationship? When did you propose? When was our wedding, our honeymoon? Sherlock... we've never had any of those things," she said, her eyes closing as she gently took his hands from her face.

"It started in the morgue. You'd done your hair up parted on the side and were wearing lipstick. You brought me coffee and I asked you out. I proposed at Baker Street of course. Hid your ring under the skull. John toasted us with champagne before I took you to bed. The wedding was simple, the honeymoon sublime, a small service with our friends and then a trip all the way around Italy. We conceived Arthur on that trip. He's only a few months old now, my love." He held tightly to her hands, concern very clear in his grey-blue eyes.

 _Oh, I hate you, you bastard_ , she thought. Jim had crafted the most perfect lie. She clearly wasn't going to be able to talk Sherlock out of this vision; the Goblin King had woven his web too well and too tightly. She took the vial from his hand and turned towards the crib; she stroked the dream-child's curly hair and soft cheek, a farewell to what she had never had. "I'm sorry... I don't know what I was thinking," she said. "Sherlock... can... can you kiss me again?" she asked. Before he turned her around, though, she unstoppered the vial and poured the contents into her mouth. She hated having to force it on him like this, but it was the only way.

"Of course, my little rose." Smiling though still a bit concerned, he drew her close and kissed her again with a bit more passion this time, threading his hands into her hair and moaning softly against her lips. She gently parted his lips with hers and passed the potion to him, holding him tightly to her, making sure he swallowed it all down. When she was certain, she broke it, tears pouring down her face.

"Molly... wait, Molly, what's going on?"

She stifled a sob. "You're waking up," she said.

"Waking up? What are you-" He cut off, going deathly white. "He's... he's in my... my _head_..."

"You can fight him, Sherlock. I know you can! You're brilliant, the cleverest man alive. The world's only consulting detective..." Molly said, gripping his shoulders.

"He's screaming for help in here. Want to hear it?"

She recoiled. The voice that came from Sherlock's lips was decidedly not the detective's. She was so horrified that she couldn't answer.

"Such a spoiled little brat, but that was a clever bit with the potion. I have to give you points for resourcefulness, mouse." Sherlock's eyes narrowed and a cruel smirk painted his features. "Trapped in his own mind palace, watching as I take control. The pathetic thing is all I had to do for his spot on performance is just remove his utter disgust with you, his complete hatred of you. Once that was done? Piece. Of. Cake."

"Put it back. Put it back and _let him go_. I beat your stupid maze, I made it to the castle. I _won_. Now give him back and let us leave," she said, her eyes blazing.

"Oh, what's this? You're _begging_ for him to despise you again? To look at you like something to crush under his boot? You were never what I wanted, you were just the _tool_ to bring me my newest toy, _pet_."

She flinched. "If he hates me, if he loathes me, then _so be it_. And... I know I'm not what you want. I'm not interesting," she said. "So, I say again, put him back to the way he was and let us go. I _won_."

"But, little pet, don't you remember the end of the story? 'Well, the girl had a choice. She could take all the things the Goblin King offered or she could run the labyrinth for the man who hated her. She chose the Goblin King, and he made her his queen, ruling alongside him in the magic lands. The bad man became one of the goblins, something of a pet for them, and the girl was never sad or hurt again. The End.'" The detective stepped forward, taking her hand. "Join me. Be my queen and he's yours. Everything your heart desires, it's all here. All waiting for you."

"I've made my choice, haven't I? I ran the Labyrinth. I'm not your Queen. I'm not anyone's queen. He'd never be mine, he'd be a puppet, a mockery, a lie. It's not my heart's desire, it's a nightmare."

"But didn't I mention? The hate is there because he can't understand his love for you. That wasn't a puppet performance. That was real, Molly Hooper."

She gasped as if he had driven something into her heart. She nearly doubled over. When she managed to get a hold of herself, she looked into his eyes and swallowed hard. "Then... then he can come to understand it on his own terms, in his own time. This faery tale is over, Goblin King. We're all stories in the end, and this one is / _mine_./ I choose when to turn the page, and I'm writing you _out_ ," she said, her voice steadily growing stronger.

The room began to shimmer at the edges, and Sherlock's face broke into one of surprise. "No... not possible... you _can't_ do that..."

"I _can_ and I _will_ and I _am_! You have no power, no power over him, no power over me! Goblin King, get you _gone_!" Molly yelled.

And everything shattered.


	11. Epilogue: Happy Endings

There was a great sound of tearing, of breaking glass and tumbled stone, of rending metal and angered screaming, and then it all went quiet. Molly lifted her head; she and Sherlock were back in the morgue at St. Bart's, like they had never left. But things were different; Molly's blouse was still tattered and torn, her clothes showed signs of her journey through the Labyrinth and back. It _had_ happened. She sat down heavily on a well-placed chair, trembling.

"What... the bloody hell... was that... oh for the love of science, my _head_."

Her head snapped up, her eyes going wide. "Sherlock!"She rushed over to him. "Are you all right?" she asked, looking him over frantically.

"Feels like something is trying to crawl out of my head through my ears, everything's too bright, too loud... dizzy. Molly, I'm dizzy."

"Here... sit down. I'd dim the lights if I could..." she said, guiding him to the chair that she recently vacated. "Close your eyes, that should help."

He did, sighing with relief but holding on tight to her hand, the one part of her he'd managed to get hold of. "The things he said, Molly... I couldn't stop... he-he... I need to explain..."

She froze and sighed, and it was as if her entire body deflated. "Sherlock... I understand. I do. He was... he was in your head, manipulating you. He was making you feel things that you never will, not for me. I... I want to apologize, for all of this. It's all my fault," she said quietly.

"Yes it was foolish and stupid of you to say the words and trap me there... still can't believe it except for the pounding in my head and the fact that I can still feel your lips against mine. The last thing he said that sounded most like manipulation... that... well... that was actually the truth."

She nearly flinched. "Wh-what?" she said faintly, not daring to believe, not daring to hope.

"It was the cruelest way to show me how inept I am at understanding love and relationships and feelings, but it started before then. I couldn't delete the memories of your torture. At all. Then he got into my head and broke down my barriers and it was so easy to believe the illusion because all of a sudden I wanted it. Wanted you... and I need you to kiss me, to show me it wasn't fake, it wasn't pretend because I can no longer tell anymore and... _please_ , Molly."

The pathologist closed her eyes and took a deep breath before she opened then again and nodded. "All right," she said. She leaned in and softly pressed her lips to his, a chaste kiss, one that was barely there.

The sensations that flooded Sherlock's mind astounded him, sending him forward in the chair to clutch Molly as close as he could, kissing her as if he would never get to again. She made a small noise in her throat, taken aback by how fiercely he responded. She wrapped her arms around him as he held her close, surrendering to it, to him.

When he broke it, panting slightly, he clutched her close in a tight hug. "You saved my life, Molly Hooper, and for that I am grateful. Thank you."

She laughed a bit breathlessly. "No thanks needed, Sherlock. I would have done it for you anyway," she said.

"I know. Even with how I treated you, the way I acted... you still did it. You still insisted on rescuing me."

She nodded. "Because... because I love you," she said softly, cupping his face in her hands. "I'd go to the ends of the Earth and back for you."

"And you went further than that if my memories are to be relied upon. And it may take me some time, but if this is what it feels like, what he said it was, then I also feel that. Love. For you."

The words coming from his lips were like a shock to her system. "If I have to wait, then I will wait. However long you need, I'll wait," she said, resting her forehead on his.

"Molly... the girl who ran."

She laughed, slightly triumphant. "The girl who _won_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I've ever edited something this swiftly. I hope you've enjoyed this little ficlet from us. /Yes/, a ficlet. Take a look at our other works an you'll see. This is /short/ for us.


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